


Half-Light

by BabylonsFall, knight_tracer



Category: Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Audio Format: M4B, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: S04e07 The Grave Danger Job, Episode: s03e03 The Inside Job, Gen, Minor Alec Hardison/Parker, Pining, Podfic, Podfic Length: 45-60 Minutes, Post-Episode: s05e15 The Long Goodbye Job, Pre-OT3, See Notes for further warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-07-10 08:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19902445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabylonsFall/pseuds/BabylonsFall, https://archiveofourown.org/users/knight_tracer/pseuds/knight_tracer
Summary: Things go a little differently when your soul's outside your body.A little - but in the end? Not by much.





	1. Podfic

**Author's Note:**

> This turned into an excuse to write daemons into canon. And pining. And I couldn't be happier.
> 
> Title is a very vague reference to Rag'n'Bone Man's song 'Grace'
> 
> Warnings: to be expected to go along with the Grave Danger Episode - trigger warning for claustrophobia and descriptions of panic attacks
> 
> Knight_tracer is amazing, and incredibly patient, and I'm really, really grateful. And thanks for the mods for putting this together!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Podfic of the story

Podfic Length: 56:51  
Download Links: [mp3](http://knight-tracer.parakaproductions.com/Podfic/01%20Half-light.mp3) click to stream, right-click 'save as' to download | [m4b](http://knight-tracer.parakaproductions.com/Podfic/Half-light.m4b) right-click 'save as' to download


	2. Podfic

"Don’t. Say. It.” Parker gritted out, only just loud enough for Puck to hear her.

Puck didn’t say anything - just tucked himself in tighter to Parker’s neck, sharp talons digging into her skin, feathers scritching at her neck.

Even in the quiet though, Parker could just about feel the glare she knew he wanted to give her.

“We’re fine. We’re going to be fine. We are going to be-” Quiet, quiet, footsteps banging heavy on the stairs behind her as she makes it up another level, thick boots thudding up to the next level as she hides behind the corner.

The alarm hasn’t stopped since the vault. Wailing and blaring, echoing in empty stairwells and giving her no room to-

Breathe in.

One.

Two.

Three.

Breathe out.

Around the next corner, she’s pretty sure Puck dug his talons in just a little sharper than absolutely needed.

They were fine.

They were _supposed_ to be fine.

Archie had given them everything they should’ve needed. Schematics straight from the archives, security layouts, passcodes, guard rotations, everything. Hell, he’d even given them a plan. Sure, that plan had been meant for two people, a bird and a ferret, but it wasn’t too hard to pare it down from there.

The security schematics hadn’t included the people though. Nor the entirety of the Steranko’s sheer level of _mean_.

And she was still pretty sure she could’ve managed it. She just didn’t know what she did wrong, the feeling picking at the back of her head as the part of her mind that wasn’t focused on _getting away_ turned the problem over and over and over again.

She didn’t quite yelp when she felt a pinch at her neck, but it was a close thing.

“Focus.” Puck hissed, like he hadn’t since she was little. “Out first, puzzle second.”

She nodded, the movement too little to unsettle him from his perch. Right. Get to the roof. Go from there.

Back into the stairway.

Boots above her, the alarm muffled through the heavy doors. Follow the sounds of soles on cement, of claws on concrete. Slide into their echoes. Keep going up.

And out again on a new floor.

She heard echoing voices, coming back down the stairway, meeting the rising tide of those voices that had been below her. Stopping on her floor.

Around the corner, down the hall, as fast as her feet can carry her.

She couldn’t hear the alarm anymore so much as _feel_ it, rattling her bones, making them ache. Her hand rose up, even as she ran, to cup over Puck - to make sure that he was still there even as his talons kept him locked to her shoulder. To shield his tiny body from the physical weight of that damn alarm.

To avoid seeing the flash of red of his feathers and mistaking it for something else.

She heard thick claws on tile right as she rounded the corner, pressing up against the wall and holding her breath.

There’d been a doberman in the group of guards she’d last seen, and what she was pretty sure was a caiman, along with a variety of daemons with too many teeth and too long claws, attached to humans with too much energy. It was a bad mix in general, nevermind in pissed off security.

“This way!” One called, as she heard him round the corner after whichever daemon had made it there first.

It was okay. They were going to be okay.

“Infrared, now!”

Breathe in.

One.

Two.

Thr- “Good. Go! Spread down left. You two, right!”

Go.

* * *

It wasn’t too hard to give the guards the slip again.

One thing she never understood about most security thugs - all their daemons tended to be those with sensitive hearing. Sensitive noses she understood, but hearing? She supposed it made sense in quieter jobs - the ones with one security guard per shift. Or in places where the alarms stayed silent and the people were more of a problem than the cameras.

But in a place like this? That alarm was hurting _her_ ears, long before they finally switched the damn thing off. She could only imagine the dogs and the cats. That had to _hurt_.

As much of an annoyance as it had been, it had given her some leeway in slipping away - her running feet able to land heavier, put more force into their speed, rather than focusing on staying quiet.

Now, with the alarm off, and the guards fanning out, she needed to get out of sight, not just out of ear shot.

She’d managed to find a corner with an air duct and no obvious security measures, the guards a good couple of minutes behind her. She’d gotten the grate open and shooed Puck inside, feeling that small tug behind her breastbone as he shot through the duct, searching for a way out while she watched the halls.

People tended to be uncomfortable when they found out that Puck, more often than not, worked as the scout of their pair. It’d taken her years to figure out why - they’d been doing something similar, if not nearly so formal, since they were little. Since before they were Parker and Puck.

Parker would watch her foster parents’ bedroom door, or the driveway, while Puck flew out the backdoor, poking around their little hideaways and scouting exits through the neighborhood.

Talk of her being severed was common. Talk of witches popped up sometime - especially after Puck settled - but she never really understood why.

Still didn’t.

Sure, Puck being gone for too long still hurt, but it wasn’t...it wasn’t the distance. It was the time. Too much time apart brought something she thought might be what people were describing when they talked about being too far apart from their daemon. Maybe.

The only one who seemed to ever _get_ it though was Nate. And Eliot. Nate because he knew too much - saw too much, fit together too many pieces of too many people, puzzled too many minds apart not too. And Eliot because...well. Him and Sugar were pretty similar. Not exactly the same of course, but close enough.

Something twitched at the back of her mind - tugging, twisting - before Puck came zipping back out of the duct, red feathers fluffed and chest poofed when he settled in her open hands. Not panicked then. Frazzled though.

“Laser tripwires.” He hissed out.

“...In a ventilation shaft?!” Parker asked, shooting a glare at the duct. She felt Puck shake out his feathers, a sure sign he was annoyed.

Okay, so. New plan.

New plan.

New…

Puck didn’t quite squeak when her hands tightened around him - never hard enough to hurt, but a habit she’d never quite broken - as she pushed back against the wall. People in lab coats passed by the corner, paying her no mind.

They’d shut down the worst of the lockdown then, if people were getting back to work.

Okay.

She could work with that.

It took a couple of minutes to get a clear idea where everyone was going, where the guards now were, and what exactly they were doing - going person by person, checking IDs and using retinal scanners apparently - but from there, it was easy enough to swipe a lab coat and a pair of glasses. Puck tucked himself carefully into the pocket of the coat - an obvious lump, where a daemon might comfortably rest, without showing his colors - and she slid in behind a pair of employees.

No one spared her a glance.She slid into one of the empty cubicles, grabbing at the phone.

“Speak.” God, even just hearing Hardison’s voice on the other end - steady and familiar - and she could feel the tension sliding off her shoulders, even as she had to dive into explaining.

“Hardison, listen. I screwed up. I’m downtown in a building and I-”

“We are already here, mama.”

“You are? All of you?” How the hell would she have missed that? Lucille and Sugar didn’t exactly blend in on the best of days, even if their respective humans sometimes managed. But, then, this building had how many floors?

“Wait. Parker, are you calling me from a company landline?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay, ‘cause I have an ID.” She said, flipping up said ID to get a look at it.

“No, no. Not okay. Parker, they’re matching IDs to retinal scans. If a security guard scans your ID, you’re busted.” There was a pause that made Parker’s stomach twist, “And now that you’re calling me, Steranko knows exactly where you are.”

No, no, no, any relief she’d felt at hearing Hardison, and hearing he was close, was gone in a breath, and it took everything she had to keep it calm.

“What? Why? Make it stop!” Somewhat calm anyway.

“No, no. Okay, you got a thirty second window. Right now, you’re at twenty. You need to hang up. Get to cubicle 27, wait there. Go now.”

And Parker was gone before she could think about it. She wasn’t relaxed, and nowhere near calm.

But her team was here. They had a plan. She just had to follow it.

She could do that.

* * *

It’s a hectic race from there. Scrambling through the office, fumbling out of that really awkward severance party thing, following the path Hardison lays out for her. Listening to her team argue in her ear - Archie safe and annoyed, Nate annoyed right back, Sophie somewhere in the building distracting the woman behind all this…

And even hearing secondhand what that woman had to say…

Parker’s head was a mess, even as her stride remained unbroken.

All of Archie’s rules were tumbling around in her mind - _don’t get involved, get out before anyone gets you_ \- even as the idea of just _leaving_ was sitting like a stone in her stomach. Puck fluttered around her head, having slipped out of her pocket as soon as they realized they’d be sprinting the last stretch. She knew he didn’t like the idea either, but the _why_ of it was stuck in her throat, choking her even as she rounded the last corner.

They didn’t have time, she needed to get _out,_ and yet-

Seeing Eliot and the very annoyed bobcat at his side - either from the height or the situation, she didn’t know - hit her with a wave of relief.

“Move away.” A step back, one that finally seemed to twist what was stuck back into place. “Parker, move!”

“No, no...I can’t.” She didn’t have the right words - not really - but now that the idea wasn’t cloying up her insides, she needed to get it out.

“Parker, what are you doing?” Archie barked in her ear, sounding distant and tinny.

The knock on the window jarred her back to the moment, “This is no time for crazy, alright? We gotta get the hell out of here!” Eliot snapped, Sugar pacing at his heels and clearly agreeing, even if she let him do the talking.

“I have to go back! The Steranko has a record of the break-in. Hannity can walk the blight out on her own and blame it on me. She’s gonna get away with it. We need proof.” She didn’t like to think she could do ‘pleading’, but she could practically see Eliot folding, even as he tried to keep up the angry front.

“What proof?” He asked, probably dreading the answer if the scowl was anything to go by.

“I have to go back and steal the blight.”

At that, Archie piped in again, still tinny and distant, and Parker didn’t know if that was because her focus was elsewhere, already figuring out how to get back, or if he’d always sounded that way.

“Parker, this is not what I taught you.”

“Archie-” He just needed to listen.

“We do not get involved. We get out.”

“Archie-!” Just, for once.

“This is not what we do!”

“No, this isn’t what you do!” She felt her chest constricting, even as her voice gained strength, as he finally fell silent and _listened_ “Okay, Hannity is _bad_. She’s gonna hurt people, a _lot_ of people. You’ve taught me a lot of things, Archie, but this is what we do.”

“...She’s right, Nate.” Sophie - Parker hadn’t heard her directly in awhile, but the tacit support helped her breathe normally again.

“Well, somebody better decide something, ‘cause Steranko is whupping my ass.” And there was Hardison, and she couldn’t fight back a grin.

“You’re not actually considering this?” Archie asked - not to her, it took her a second to realize.

“Parker, last time you went to the vault-” Finally, back on track.

“No, I couldn’t, but I was alone then. I’m not alone now,” and wasn’t that just a kicker? “Okay? Hardison, just clear a path to the vault. I know what I did wrong before. I can do it!” She tried to put all her conviction into that last part, watching Eliot, and hoping Hardison, Sophie and Nate could hear it - could feel it.

“...Okay. It’s your show. Go for it.”

Her face practically hurt with her grin. She heard the others continue talking, but she was already tuning them out, turning on her heel and heading back out to the hallway, with the confidence that came from knowing she had someone at her back, both figuratively and literally.

Puck felt it too, if the way he was perched on her shoulder again was anything to go by, little claws pricking at her skin, but only for balance. No fear turning the hold desperate and painful for both of them this time.

Which, of course, means she gets spotted immediately.

She kind of wants to laugh.

“Security office, this is Charlie. I’m on the executive level. We got the intruder.” One step, two. Circling around him and his very pissed off looking bloodhound.

“Intruder? Me? No. I’m just bringing the figures for the thing up on the…” His unimpressed look rivals Eliot’s, she’ll give him that, “Not working for you, huh?”

Not that it matters. She didn’t hear glass shattering, but the next thing she sees is Eliot, who taps Charlie on the shoulder and knocks him out in the next breath.

Puck pushes off of her long enough to go swipe at Sugar’s ear, something the bobcat barely tolerates most days, but seems content to let slide this once, as all she does is shake out her fur.

Parker does laugh this time - breathless and light - even as Eliot just gestures for her to go. She can do that.

Turn on her heel, set her shoulders.

“Hardison. Options.”

* * *

Parker doesn’t quite take a full breath again until they’re at the pub that night.

Not that she’d been breathing _wrong_ the entire time but...but like, once she’s sitting at the corner table, once it finally hits that they _did it_ , she’s able to relax completely - take a deep breath and feel her muscles unclench, loosen up out of _ready, move, go_.

While they’d initially been a noisy bunch when they’d made it back - like they always were - things had calmed down quickly. Nate and Sophie were at the bar, heads low, Sophie laughing softly, and Nate making small gestures with his hands. Alastriona was awkwardly curled up under his barstool, some weird configuration of her spine being the only way Parker could figure a hyena fitting in such a small place. She couldn’t see Arcturus, the nikolsky’s adder was rarely ever in plain sight, but she had little doubt he was either coiled in Sophie’s lap, or buried and hidden in Alastriona’s mane.

Hardison and Eliot were at a table close by, arguing about...something. Parker wasn’t sure - when she’d last zoned in, it had been about addresses and porn shops and somehow everything being Hardison’s fault? And now she’d lost the thread completely. But that was okay.

Sugar was sprawled out comfortably behind Eliot’s chair, while Lucille crouched close by. The poor girl still didn’t really know how to react to the bobcat - leonbergers were naturally curious and affectionate things, and Lucille was no different. But Sugar hadn’t always reacted well in the past. Parker watched them idly, wondering how long it’d take Lucille to get up the courage to flop against her this time - and how long it’d take both Lucille and Hardison to figure out that Eliot and Sugar really didn’t mind the attention.

Eliot caught her watching them, glancing down himself to take in the cautious mound of fluff edging around the supremely unconcerned lump of a cat. He didn’t quite smile, but he did wink at Parker when Hardison wasn’t looking.

She grinned. They’d get it eventually.

It took her a long moment to notice the flash of red tucked up against Sugar’s back - only doing so when the bobcat yawned and stretched, sending Lucille scooching back a couple inches.

Well, that explained where Puck went then.

About that time, Sugar apparently gets tired of Lucille trying to figure out where to rest, and straight up tackles the poor dog across the floor. Puck squawks as he loses his bed, and hops after the now playfully wrestling pair, indignant and fluttering.

Watching them, something settles, heavy in her chest. But unlike the sinking dread of earlier, the fear that stuttered her breath and stalled her thinking, this is...heavier. Grounded. Stifling if she lets it get that far, but just enticing enough that she doesn’t shove it away immediately.

_I’m not alone now._

She’d said it in a rush before, going off instinct as much as thought, but as she watched Hardison and Eliot laughing after their daemons, and Nate and Sophie turning to watch the commotion with fond looks (under Nate’s put upon exasperation anyway), she feels it sink into her bones.

She could work with that.


	3. Chapter 3

It all goes wrong so, so quick.

One second, they’re dealing with Darlene and her sons. Alastriona’s doing a remarkable impression of calm, same as Nate, even as Gideon and Emery’s coyotes circle her. He doesn’t know whose is whose - figures it doesn’t much matter since they look identical anyway. Lucille’s pressed hard against his side, keeping a close eye on Darlene’s raven, Janus. The damn bird’s been watching them funny since they’d walked into the office the first time, and Hardison can’t wait to never see either of them again.

Everything’s tense, sure. But Darlene’s handing over the money, no problem, and Nate’s handing over the identities, no problem.

And then the problem comes through the door, in the form of Javier and his buddy.

Next thing Hardison knows, Darlene and her sons are bolting, and there’s a gun on Nate.

Hardison has enough time to hear Nate ask “What collateral?” before he feels a shock of cold, slimy, _wrong_ slide down his spine. He spins around to find Lucille, a shout caught in his throat, only for the world to go dark.

* * *

Hardison couldn’t breathe right.

That was the first thing he was aware of.

Deep breaths tasted stale and thick, with dust catching at the back of his throat, making him need to cough, only to realize he couldn’t get enough air to do so.

His thoughts feel slow and stunted, trying to figure out the _whys_ and the _wheres,_ and coming up short.

He didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to confirm that the space he was in was as small as it felt, didn’t want to see where the taste of dirt was coming from.

The cell phone ringing takes the choice away from him.

The light is too bright, burning eyes that feel crusted shut and fuzzy.

“Wakey, wakey.” He knows that voice. But where- it clicks a moment later, the stickiness to his thoughts finally falling away as the light of the cell phone shows exactly what he didn’t want to see.

“Where am I?” He asks, even as the stretch of satin above him stands out in sharp relief. There’s even a goddamn rose on his chest, like some kind of sick joke.

“Well, see for yourself.” Javier responds, all uncaring aloofness, before the phone goes dark again.

“No. No, no, no no-” He knows he screams.

He just can’t figure out why he can’t hear it.

* * *

When he wakes up the second time, breathing is still difficult, his thoughts still scrambled, even if he wakes with the painful knowledge of exactly where he is.

What stops his heart this time though is realizing something else.

There’s no pain under his breastbone, besides the sharp stitch that comes from breathing too hard, too fast, and still not getting enough air.

There was, however, a slimy, sickening feeling, sliding over his skin under the suit. It felt wrong but also like it had happened earlier - a bruise only just now blooming over an old ache. He knew exactly what that feeling was, and it took all he had not to be sick over it.

Lucille. Where was-

His hands shoot out in the darkness, one smacking sharply against the side of the coffin, the other finding fur a mere second later.

As soon as he feels her, he can feel his breath coming...well, not easier, but slower, the edge of panic dissipating. He feels her stir too - the fogginess in his head probably meant that both of them had been out for too long - and a moment later, she’s writhing around to get her head on his chest as best she can with the low ceiling.

There’s no one around to hear the choked sound he makes as he wraps his arms around her, so he doesn’t bother trying to bite it down.

He remembered Darlene talking about that damn side attachment to the coffin she’d shown him - meant for replicas of the deceased’s daemons, so both of them could rest or some other bullshit she’d been spinning while he’d tried not to be sick just looking at the thing.

It wasn’t big enough for Lucille, he knew that much. That she’d been so cramped in there that she hadn’t been touching him at first was a damn feat if there ever was one.

“Where are we?” Lucille asks, voice low and rumbling in the small space. Breathing’s still not any easier, and he’s doing his best to run his fingers through her fur to chase away whatever’s left of that _other_ , but the weight on his chest and hearing her all do more to ground him than breathing easier would anyway.

“That damn coffin - Darlene’s damn captain or-or admiral or whatever the hell it was.”

Lucille tenses next to him, before pressing in tighter. He knows his grip on her fur has got to be painful at this point - can feel it echoing along his own sides. But it’s his, it’s _theirs_ , and that _other_ is finally starting to fade from the back of his mind.

The phone rings again, and only because he needs to, he lets go with one hand to scrabble at it.

It’s Javier again. “Listen. Listen up, ‘cause I’m only gonna say this once. You use this phone to call your friend. Tell him to bring the identity documents to the baseball diamond on the corner of Sycamore and 3rd. You tell him to place the envelope under home base. Once I have the documents, then we can talk. That is, if you’re still alive.” And Hardison swears he hears a laugh before the line clicks again.

His fingers are shaking as he taps out the number, but Lucille’s kind enough not to mention it.

He hears the line click on, and he can’t stop his breath from stuttering as he hears Parker’s almost tentative “Hello?”

“Hello? P-Parker? Parker!”

Her voice goes distant, “Guys!” And back to him, “Hardison, where are you?”

The slightly manic laugh he almost chokes on is not his fault there, “Um- I think, I think I’m in one of Darlene’s coffins.” Knows he is, still doesn’t want to admit it. “I-I don’t, don’t have my earbud. I think Javier took it.” More useful information, come on, focus. “Uh, he-he left me a phone, but it’s, it’s old-school. There’s no GPS, so you can’t-” focus, “can’t track me.”

He hears Nate, echoing and distant. Parker must’ve put him on speaker. “Okay, Hardison, listen. Uh, now, Javier must have wanted you to contact us to arrange a trade. Did you get his number?” The straight-forward, no nonsense tone of Nate on the job helps him zero in - helps push back the panic that’s been slowly creeping back in.

“Yeah, yeah. Texting it right now.” He has to let go of Lucille to do so with the old keypad, and unclenching his fingers from her fur _hurts_.

“Look,” Eliot. He sounds far less calm than Nate. But he’s not panicking. He’s pissed, and barely holding it in. Good. Good. People tend to go running when Eliot’s like that. Not that it tends to help. Hardison really hopes they find Javier soon. “If you still have reception, then you can’t be buried that deep, if you’re buried at all.”

“I-I don’t know where I am.”

He knows Eliot tries to be quiet with the next part - but all he can hear right now is the faint static of the old phone, and his own and Lucille’s breathing. There’s nothing else to focus on but this one tether to his team. “30 minutes of oxygen in that box, Nate.”

Hardison claps a hand over his mouth to keep the ragged sob from coming up.

“Okay, Hardison, listen to me. The important thing is to stay calm. We are going to find you.” What Hardison had thought of as a calming tone not two minutes ago now dug into his chest. Made it even harder to breathe as panic threatened to choke him.

“Why not just give Javier the fake identities? They’re of no value.” Sophie - not talking to him. To the team instead.

“It wouldn’t work. Uh, Hardison, just hold on one second-” The phone goes dead silent. No static, no background noise.

And in that moment, Hardison feels so, so small.

“P-Parker? Nate? Somebody? Some-” he can’t bite down on the sob this time, even as he claps a hand over his mouth again to try to muffle it.

Lucille can’t press any closer than she already is, and he can already feel the twinge in his back from where her spine has to be suffering in the small space, but she tries. And that’s about all that’s keeping him from losing it right there.

The phone’s static flickers back in a moment later. “Hardison, uh, you’re definitely, uh- buried in the radius of the funeral home. We’re gonna check it out right now.”

There’s the sound of movement - heavy footsteps, clothes rustling, and he just about picture them moving over to the monitors. Focusing on them again, _hearing_ them again, helps him keep a lid on things, though he doesn’t know for how much longer.

“There’s over four dozen areas of open field there. Golf courses, playgrounds, you name it. But it’s broad daylight. Javier’s not gonna bury a casket in a soccer field. Hardison’s in a cemetery. You got open graves, back hoes.”

Eliot - always informative, always helpful, and always, always saying just the wrong damn things.

“I’m where? Oh, sweet mother mercy.”

They’re not paying attention to him right now, thankfully. “Which one?” Eliot asks, Nate, Hardison presumes. Hopes.

“Alright, Hardison, listen,” Hardison can’t move much in the space, especially not with Lucille crowded up against his side, but he shifts, puts his focus on the phone as best he can. “We need your help in tracking. Can you smell anything? Do, do you have any pressure in your ears?”

Hardison’s about to snap that he can’t - he can smell dirt, a lot of goddamn dirt - before something else hits - a sound, not a smell, but it’ll do. “Wait, wait. It’s water. It’s wa- it’s, it’s...It’s water. Do you hear that? Can- can you- can you hear that’s water? It’s it’s like all around me.” It’s the weirdest sound he’s ever heard, and one he knows is going to haunt his nightmares when he makes it out of this. A deep rumbling coming out of nowhere in the dark, surrounding him, threatening to swallow him whole- focus. “It’s like it just turned on, like a switch of something.” Wait. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait, wait, wait...Okay it just, it turned off. You heard that right?”

They’re not talking to him again, but they’re talking about him, and Hardison can deal with that. “Sprinklers. He ain’t that deep.”

“You know what else I bet he can hear?”

There’s time then, where they’re not focused on the phone. He’s just happy they don’t turn it off, even if he can’t really follow what’s happening anymore.

He sets the phone on his chest, just for light, for noise, and feels around the coffin a bit. It’s not going to give him much, he knows. But it’s something to do that doesn’t involve giving voice to the panic in his mind.

His leg twitches, and for the first time he feels something digging awkwardly into the meat of his calf.

Keys.

Lucille notices as soon as he freezes up, taking a moment before glancing down at his leg. There’s not much room to maneuver - her shoulders too wide, chest too deep - but she manages to reach over to catch the keys with her teeth, sliding back up to her previous position to give them to him.

The keys are his. And so is the nail file attached to the chain.

Before he can do anything with it though, the sound on the phone comes back into focus, Parker’s voice loud in the quiet.

“Hardison?”

“Par-Parker?” He thought he’d been holding onto what was left of his calm by the edge of his teeth. But just hearing her, all of a sudden, and he knows he’s not. He can feel his breath shortening again, even if the actual experience of breathing in, breathing out, is...distant. Detached in the face of the clamoring in his brain.

The satin above him has some give to it - some distant part of his brain tells him that the change in texture, that movement of fabric above him is probably about all that’s been keeping his brain from acknowledging that he’s locked in a box. In the ground. With no way out.

He distantly hears Parker calling his name again, and all he can manage is a parrot’s call back of “Parker? Parker!” without knowing what he’s asking for. Why he needs to know she hears him.

The satin above his head comes apart easily under the nail file. At least until it hits wood, on either side of that...that fucking porthole thing in the top that Darlene had shown him.

He thinks he loses a little bit of time, just staring at that damn hole. But then Parker’s voice is loud again, and Lucille is pushing the cell phone closer to his face. “Hardison? Can you hear me?” There’s an answer, lodged in the back of his throat. And he is so thankful she continues without it. “Okay, Hardison, I need you to calm down. Listen to me.”

Listen. He can do that.

“Okay. Take a deep breath in.” It’s still stale. Dusty. Tasting of dirt and dread. But he does it. It doesn’t fill his lungs right, leaves him feeling hollowed out and scraped raw as the air forces its way into his lungs. But he does it.

“Okay, good. Now let it out.” He can feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as the air leaves him again. “Okay, c-come on. Come on. You got to do this with me, okay?” And god, he wishes he could answer her. But he can’t, and she keeps going. “Okay, here we go. Let’s do this together, ‘kay? Deep breath in.” Hearing Parker breathe along helps the next breath in go a little easier. Following her example. Focusing on something other than the scrape in his throat.

“Deep breath out.”

And again. Each breath comes easier, as he listens to her. Listens to her steady voice. If he listens closely enough, he can hear Puck, the little scarlet tanager trilling softly from where he’s probably settled on her shoulder, ruffling and fluttering with each deep breath she has him copy.

“Good. Okay, good.” His voice is creaky, and so scratched out he almost doesn’t recognize it.

“There you go.” And she sounds so relieved, he wants to cry. He did it.

“P-Parker, don’t- don’t get off the phone. Please. I-I,” his voice drops, and he knows he sounds small, sounds trapped, but he needs this, “I don’t want to be alone again.”

“I’m not getting off this phone until we get you out of there, okay?” And that’s a promise he can latch onto, almost as hard as he’s latched onto Lucille’s fur. Hurts almost just as much too.

He hears Nate, but he can’t make out the words.

“Okay, Hardison, can you hear anything?”

And the silence is pressing in around him again.

Deep breath. Come on. In. And out.

“No, no, nothing.”

“Okay, stay calm.” Quiet for a long moment. “You’re doing great. You’re doing great.” Hardison doesn’t know if that’s for him or for her, but he’s grateful either way. Nate in the background again-

He hears something. It’s muffled, and faint but it’s definitely- “Wait, w-wait, wait, wait! I hear something. I hear something!”

“Okay, good. Is it- is it an ambulance or a police car?”

“Ambulance! Ambulance!” He knows his voice cracks there, but he doesn’t care. He can hear them. They’re coming for him.

Parker pulls away from the phone, her voice staticky, “He’s here, he’s here! Stoneshire Cemetery!” And she’s back, voice clear again, “We’re on our way. Hang in there. We’re close. We’re right here.” And she keeps going, and it’s nonsense, but he doesn’t want her to stop.

There’s commotion again, and Hardison can’t make out any of it, not until he hears Parker again, sounding out of breath, “We don’t have time to dig all of them,” and then Sophie, too far away to hear clearly.

It’s not quite panic that has him scraping and scratching at the top of the coffin again, but it’s damn close. Knowing they’re nearby, but also knowing that it’ll be like finding a tiny little needle in a great big haystack full of dead people, lights a fire under him, and he just needs to scrape his way out before the smoke suffocates him.

It’s another long moment - listening to Parker and Sophie scramble across the cemetery in fits and bursts, while he frantically tries to help - before the compass from that porthole thing falls onto his chest. The light glints from the cellphone, showing the needle spinning wildly.

Why-

“Parker? Parker. Parker! Stop, stop!” He hears her stop moving over the phone, no doubt about to ask him why, “You’re standing right above me, Parker, just...Do you have that m-metal detector I gave you?”

“Yeah, why?”

He swears the next breath is sweet.

“Just, just dig.” He hears her call Sophie over, can almost hear them digging at the dirt above him, before there’s a sharp crackle over the phone - one that sounds way too much like gunfire.

“Guys? Guys!” He calls, but while he can hear them talking, they don’t respond to him.

The next breath is tight. Doesn’t fill him up right. And Hardison knows it’s not just the panic.

“Hardison.”

He wants to sob, but can’t get the air, “I can’t-”

“Hardison, if you can hear me, take a deep breath, as deep as you can, and hold it.” He does without thinking, can’t do anything else, hand coming up to cover his mouth even as tears slide freely down his cheeks. He feels Lucille pull in a deep breath after he does, tucking her nose almost under him.

“Hardison! Hardison!” There’s more gunfire, and Hardison doesn’t know what he’ll do if his name cuts out.

“You have to make it through this,” The edges of his vision are starting to spot, tears burning hot down his cheeks as his lungs start protesting, “Because, because you’re my friend, and I need you. Do you hear me, Alec! I need you!”

His eyes slip closed, and he can’t respond, he can’t answer her, and his lungs are burning-

Before he can make the decision to let out his breath, to tell Parker...something, anything, he hears another commotion - and then Parker barking through the phone. “Hardison, move to your left!”

He rolls, shoving Lucille as far back into the compartment as he can. There’s the crack of bullets biting into wood way too close to his head, and there’s light, and stale air, and all he can do is gulp it down, air burning his lungs as it sears through him.

The next thing he knows, dirt’s being flung, and the lid to the coffin is being thrown open, and he’s being hauled up and out of the ground almost completely without him helping. He hears Nate make a crack of some kind, feels warm hands on Lucille as someone else pulls her out of the grave, all while Eliot’s got him in a death grip, forcing his head into his shoulder, and all Hardison can do is cling and try not to sob into the man’s jacket.

“Never do that again, man. Don’t do that again.” At least Hardison isn’t the only one who’s voice has cracked today.

“Cool, I-I won’t.” It’s not nearly as collected as he’d like it, but he’s being pulled away into hugs with Nate and Sophie before anyone can call him on it.

He feels more than sees the other daemons pile on Lucille - she’s big enough that she can’t be buried under them, and they wouldn’t try, but none of them exactly want to let her walk freely either just yet. The only one he can’t feel - he looks around, sees Parker leaning against a tree, eyes red and hair a mess. Puck’s on her shoulder, face buried in her neck, and Hardison can tell it’s taking everything she’s got not to bolt.

* * *

No one really lets him get more than two feet away from one of them for the rest of the day. It’s mostly Eliot, touching and prodding and pushing (gently) and refusing to let him get out of his sight. If the manic edge to Eliot’s eyes doesn’t leave soon, Hardison might just start making fun of him to take the edge off it.

Lucille doesn’t really know what to do with Sugar either. The bobcat’s been about as far away from her as Eliot’s been away from him all day. His laugh was maybe a little harsh, but it was genuine at least, when Lucille about froze as Sugar flopped down _on_ her. Only to scramble off as Sugar seemed to connect that smothering her probably wasn’t a good idea.

Either way, Lucille was aggressively cuddled for the rest of the evening, while Hardison was mother-henned to hell and back. Not that Eliot would admit that that’s what he was doing. Never in a million years.

But everytime Hardison smiled, or laughed, Eliot seemed to relax the tiniest bit.

The only time the two of them left him and Lucille alone was when Hardison asked where Parker was. Eliot had glanced towards the stairs, and Hardison had nodded, pushing himself up and heading that way.

He wondered exactly how much effort of will it took Eliot not to follow.

But he didn’t, and for that, Hardison was grateful.

Parker was sitting on the bar, holding something- the compass, Hardison saw, as he walked up. She didn’t look up at him, but Puck immediately flew over to land on Lucille’s ruff as soon as she was within two feet.

There’s quiet for a long couple of moments, both of them watching their daemons. Puck’s not exactly the...cuddliest thing in the world, but he makes a good show of settling down in Lucille’s fur, and Lucille does her best not to unsettle him as she lays down.

“I-” His voice catches, and he has to clear his throat before he tries again. “I never would have made it through that without you. You know that, right, Parker?” He needs her to know that. Needs her to know that her voice was his tether, was what kept him going.

“Oh, that’s not true, anyone can learn to hold their breath-”

Hardison can’t bear to hear that, and before he can think his way out of it, he leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek, hoping and praying he’s not overstepping, but needing to...to show her.

“Thanks for not hanging up the phone.” He adds, voice low and rough, and she’s not the only one tearing up.

“Yeah,” Parker offers, along with a small, watery smile.

Hardison smiles back, before leaving her be, giving her the room she clearly needs.

Though, he amends, as he watches Lucille trot after him, Puck staying firmly in place. Maybe she doesn’t need that much.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s not that Eliot’s getting choked up, watching Nate get down on one knee. ‘Cause he’s _not_.

The dim lights are a nice touch. Sophie being speechless for once is sweet. Watching Alastriona prance around with Arcturus around her shoulders, all proud and happy, and completely at odds with what he’s pretty sure are tears in Sophie’s eyes, is awesome.

And of course Parker wolf-whistles and ruins it.

Though, they’re all still smiling, so 'ruins' is probably too strong a word.

So, no, it’s not that he’s getting choked up about the proposal.

It’s watching Nate and Sophie turn to the group. And knowing that he’s choosing to stay next to Parker and Hardison. It’s watching them stay on one side, while Nate and Sophie stay on the other.

It’s sharing a look with Sugar, and knowing. Just. _Knowing_.

“So. The hard drive. Everything you need is...right there.” Nate says, and Eliot hears the _goodbye_ chasing it.

Smiles anyway. Can’t not.

“You know what? I’m gonna dump this on the darknet." Hardison says, sounding way too excited about the prospect.

“Every crew from around the world is gonna want in with us.” Parker adds, her own excitability leaking through.

With _us_.

Sugar leans hard against his thigh and he glances down, grimacing at her. She just looks back, unimpressed.

“I mean just, just think about it. Leverage...International.”

And before Hardison gets anymore ridiculous - and he’s going to, Eliot just knows. But if he doesn’t speak up now, he’s going to end up standing back and just grinning like a fool.

So, he steps up to Nate and Sophie.

“You know. This was your crusade. Now it’s our war.” Ours. _Ours_.

“Promise me,” Sophie starts, before she looks back at Parker and Hardison. “You’ll keep them safe.” And he has to smile - a small little thing, he knows only she catches.

“‘Till my dying day.” And he means it. With everything he has. Sophie smiles, and he knows she heard him loud and clear.

“You know, Eliot, I’d say call if you need anything,” Nate starts, “But you...never, never need anything.”

And Eliot wants to laugh, but it doesn’t feel right. Nate is so, so intelligent sometimes. And sometimes? Couldn’t see what was right in front of his nose.

“Yeah, I did.” Sugar leans hard against his thigh again when he looks back at Hardison and Parker, but he’s not trying for subtle right now. “And thanks to you, I don’t have to search anymore.”

Parker and Hardison step up then, filling out their little circle, one last time.

“You’re the smartest man I know. Don’t get cocky.” Nate warns - voice too fond to be taken seriously.

Hardison just laughs, ducking his head, but Eliot can see the pride just about streaming off him, even without Lucille puffing out her chest at his side.

“So you’re really going?” Parker asks, voicing the question they all know the answer to, but need to hear anyway.

“How’s that make you feel?” Sophie offers in return, gentle and measured in a way she only ever is with Parker.

“I think I’m okay with it.” Parker nods, as though trying to convince herself, before her shoulders square and she nods again, “Yeah, I’m okay with it.” Stronger this time.

“That’s why we can go.” Nate assures, confident in a way Parker’s still learning.

And they break away, leaving the three of them watching their backs. The sight hurts - tugs just under his breastbone in a way Eliot can’t explain, but knows the other two feel as well.

It’s quiet, after they leave - the air thick with anticipation.

 _Of what_ , Eliot has no idea.

But he can’t wait to find out.

* * *

It takes a month for things to settle into some...semblance of normal.

They’re all pretending they’re not living in the apartment attached to the brewpub - well, scratch that. Hardison and Parker already lived there. They’re all pretending Eliot isn’t living on the couch, and pretending he doesn’t go back home to pick up clothes regularly.

There’s no jobs - not yet, not while they’re still figuring out exactly what they’ve got, and not while they’re still trying to figure out how to operate with three instead of five.

It’s a...it’s a learning process.

But they’re getting there. And quick enough that Eliot wouldn’t be surprised if they weren’t pulling some soft job within the month.

Days are filled with running the brewpub - taking care of some ongoing issues that had cropped up while they’d been away, redoing the menu, hiring and training a few new people, all of the bits and details that had started to fall to the wayside. Nights are for running through scenarios and plans, figuring out where they all fit now.

The only thing said about Eliot sleeping on the couch is that they have a spare bedroom, and he’s more than welcome to use it.

And, Eliot figures, if he stays much longer, he’ll probably take them up on that.

But right now, he’s fine on the couch. Pretending he’s only staying there because their planning runs late into the night. It’s a flimsy excuse he doesn’t even bother giving after the first week, to anyone but Sugar.

And Sugar is...well, not impressed is her default, so she’s been normal, he supposes.

“Just because you gave your marriage vows doesn’t mean you need to stick around to see if they stuck.” She hissed at him, one night after way too many similar ones. He hadn’t been able to sleep, so neither had she. Instead, he’d been stretched out on the couch, watching the sky beyond the window across the living room. This deep in the city, he couldn’t see any stars, but watching the flickering lights from cars passing by stretch across the room had a comforting monotony to it.

Eliot had swatted out a hand to find her muzzle, pretending to pinch it shut. She’d bit him - lightly at least this time - in retaliation.

“It’s not that, and you know it.” He muttered, shaking out his hand. He wasn’t that creepy, and the idea was insulting to say the least. He didn’t...well, care wasn’t the right word...

It didn’t change anything, if they caught on or not. What they had going? He’d meant it when he told Nate he wasn’t searching anymore. He could, and would, happily go on like they’ve been until his dying day.

It was just that…

After five years of something stable (ish), of something he could...trust. Rely on. Of people he could turn to. Not having two of them, suddenly…

Well, it knocked him off his feet. Made him want to stick closer to what was left. At least until they got annoyed and kicked him back to his apartment. It wasn’t a feeling he...liked. Or was used to. It made him feel restless, like his skin was too small.

And he knew Sugar knew that. So he tossed a throw pillow at her instead of risking getting bit again. She may play nice (sometimes) but her teeth were still damn sharp.

She swatted it away.

“No claws.” She looked at him for a long moment - he couldn’t see her from this angle, but he could feel it, before he heard padded feet across the hardwood (and he knows he only heard her ‘cause she wanted him to) and then...the ripping of cloth.

He just sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“No one believes me when I tell them you’re petty as hell.”

“You’re the one who calls me Sugar. Why would they?”

“...It was either that or Darling.”

“Both stupid.” And she could grumble all she wanted, because Eliot knew she liked the name as much as he did. It had been a good switch for them - going from identities carved from who they’d been, to making something for themselves, all those years ago.

“That pillow salvageable or no?” He said instead of replying to her griping.

“Not in a minute it won’t be.” Great. Well, he could drag Hardison to the furniture store tomorrow. Pick out a replacement. And maybe a new couch. He was pretty sure he was starting to put a dent in this one.

There’s quiet around them for a long while after that. If Eliot listens hard enough, he can hear Hardison and Parker down the hall, breathing deep and easy. Every once in awhile there’s a sound that he’s pretty sure is Lucille, snoring.

He glances over out of the corner of his eyes, and sees Sugar’s ears twisted that way to listen too.

He grins and closes his eyes, content to leave it at that.

“...So how long do you think it’ll take them to realize those _were_ wedding vows?” Sugar asks after a long couple of minutes. She sounds like she’s trying to be aloof about it. Sucks that they’re attached then doesn’t it?

Eliot just snorted. “It took me a year to realize what the brewpub was. What do you think?”

He hears a groan and a thump. “Fantastic.”

Yeah, it kinda was.


End file.
